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He grumbles in pain, still not saying anything.
“Otello? Stay on the phone with me. I’m going to track your location, okay? Don’t hang up.” My fingers fly on the screen to bring up our GPS locator for one another. I wait for it to load, and when a red dot pops up, I let out a relieved breath when I see he’s only a few minutes away. “I’m on my way. Okay? Just hang on.” I press the hazard lights, open the glove compartment to grab my gun and place it in my lap, then slam on the gas.
The road is a narrow void, a pit of black that looks like it’s about to swallow this vehicle whole. All I can think about is my brother and my wife, dead.
And I wasn’t there to protect either of them.
I wasn’t able to tell Mable the truth.
She deserves that. She doesn’t deserve to live the rest of her life in a lie. She needs to make that decision, but I’m too afraid to tell her, and I’m not a man who fears.
But I fear losing her love.
It’s the only thing in this world that is precious to me.
I follow the GPS to a small convenience store and pull into the parking lot, seeing the Mercedes parked. I pull in right next to it, glass crunching under the tires, and I don’t bother shutting off the engine. I bolt from the door, the glass poking the underside of my shoes.
“Otello!” I shout for him, rushing to the driver’s side. I open his door, and he slides out, deadweight, and I catch him before he can hit the ground. “Fuck! Brother,” I rasp, gently bringing him to the ground.
There’s a bullet wound in the middle of his chest, and I press my hand against it to try and stop the bleeding. He’s pale and barely coherent. “Hey, who did this to you? Who fucking did it!” I roar at him through watery eyes. “And where’s Mable? Is Mable okay?”
“Floor…board,” he struggles to wheeze.
“I’m not leaving you,” I tell him. “I need my phone. I have to call an ambulance. Okay?” I take his hands, and I find that mine are shaking. I’ve seen worse things. I have done the worst of things, but it’s different when it’s family.
In all the years, ever since I was a kid and I watched my father do atrocious things, I’ve never seen one of us on the ground.
“Floor—” he tries to say again, inhaling breaths as he struggles to breathe.
“Shh. Okay, okay. I’ll look.” I take his hand and press it against the wound. “Just keep that there. Keep it there,” I repeat.
Jumping to my feet, I lean into the driver’s seat, snag his phone, then look at the floorboard like he wanted. I don’t see anything on his end, so I lean over the middle console to look on the passenger side, seeing a box.
I reach down and snag it, holding my breath when I read what it says.
And I have no time to wonder about it or think. I’m not happy. My brother is dying, and my wife is missing.
My possibly pregnant wife.
I climb out of the vehicle and kneel by Otello, placing the box on the ground and the phone to my ear to call the ambulance.
“What’s…what’s it say?” he licks his lips, still struggling to breathe.
I press my free hand to his chest, thankful that whoever shot him didn’t move their aim two inches to the right, or my brother would be dead. “I need an ambulance immediately. We’re at the twenty-four-seven stop and shop at the corner of Fairfield.” I toss the phone to the ground and hover over Otello. “Who did this? Did you get a look at them? Who has Mable?” The promise of death shakes my voice. “Who?”
“Rossiti brothers,” he gasps. “They took Mable.” He grips my shirt. “You better…you better,” he attempts to say.
I press my forehead against his. “I will kill them all. For her. For you.”
His hand slams against the ground, and he fumbles, pushing the box to me. “In-side,” he says just as sirens blare in the distance.
“Oh, come on, Otello. That isn’t important. You’re dying; do you get that? You were fucking shot. That can wait.”
He shakes his head. “It can’t. I want to know if…if I’ll be…” he smiles, and my hope fumbles when I see blood staining his teeth.
That can’t be good.
“If…I’ll be an uncle.”
